


In the Blood

by Butlouisthough



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Brotherly Love, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Post-Soulless Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 06, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butlouisthough/pseuds/Butlouisthough
Summary: Sam just got his soul back. Dean thinks he needs some time to readjust. This is what happens when Sam can't keep preoccupied.





	In the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like the idea of Sam being emotionally damaged and Dean coming to his rescue. I think that makes me a little fucked up, but it's too late now.  
> 

All the evil things swimming around his soul. Infecting his blood. It corrupted and destroyed everything around him. How do you kill something that’s within you? How do you kill something that has always been a part of you, and has only gotten stronger over time?

Dean had stepped out minutes earlier, saying something about a beer run. Sam knew it would be a while, he’d probably stop for food too. It’d been two weeks since his soul had been shoved back in. Dean said he needed some R&R, so that’s what they’d been doing. But it only gave Sam time to get lost in his own head; to dwell on all the things he’s done, soulless or not. All the people he’s hurt and failed. 

Sam stood up abruptly. Things were getting too heavy, weighing down on his shoulders, pressing on his chest. It made it hard to breathe. They were staying in some small, no-name town in Washington. Sam could see his breath puff in the air as he walked outside. The Impala was gone - of course - so he walked. He thought maybe the cold air would help with the jittery-ness he was feeling. It didn’t seem to be. Something felt very wrong. Almost like his body wasn’t his own; his blood and bones belonged to someone else. Like he was still possessed by Lucifer.

Dean still wasn’t back when Sam returned to the room. He flipped on the lights and flopped on the bed. The ceiling fan started rotating lazily. Sam’s eyes followed the blades as they slowly sped up. Then a thought was shoved to the forefront of his mind. A thought that he’d been avoiding for the past two weeks. Dean and him kept a whole arsenal in their car trunk. Sam had a duffel bag full of guns and sharpened knives sitting at his feet. 

He checked the time on his watch before he shuffled through the duffle bag. Dean had been gone twenty minutes. Sam grabbed a sheathed, silver blade, and carried it with him to the bathroom. The fan whirred to life as he flipped the switch, and then turned on the shower. He dropped his clothes to the floor, and sat on the toilet naked.

His heart started to pound when the sheath dropped to the linoleum. Light from above reflected along the edge of the blade. First, he ran his thumb along it, just to test the sharpness. He pulled away when it started to sting, a thin red line appeared on the pad of his thumb. 

So much blank canvas. Sam had never taken a blade to his skin with express intention of causing himself harm. Over the years of his hellish existence he could never bring himself to do it. He supposed this was his breaking point. Ultimately he chose his wrist. The first swipe didn’t hurt too bad, the blood slowly welled up and started to drop onto the smooth, white floor. Another cut and Sam started to feel better. He could feel the impurities leaving. One for John, one for Dean, another for Bobby, for Ellen and Jo. 

Four thin slices and a small pool of blood was a start, but he needed more. He needed to feel real pain, someway to repent for everything he’s done. With the hilt in one hand, Sam grabbed the blade in his other and squeezed. It cut through his flesh easily, and blood dripped quickly to the floor. The red pool expanded. It seemed that with every drop of blood Sam was purified. He put the knife in his cut up hand and moved onto his right arm. Deeper and deeper cuts. He was getting light headed.

A feeling welled up inside him and he dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground, sliding a foot in the blood. Sam ran a hand up his arm, it pulled uncomfortably at the cuts. Tears filled his eyes, and he dug his fingers into his arm. Blood spilled in thick rivulets down his arm. He cried out in pain, and pushed harder. The apocalypse, drinking demon blood, all those people he hurt while soulless. He never was born to be good.

“Sammy?” He heard the door slam. “I got burgers.”

Sam’s stomach dropped to his feet. All the blood, he tried to stand up, but his feet slipped in it. His head was spinning, standing up wasn’t much of an option. Taking deep breaths didn’t help either. His stomach was twisting in knots.

“Sammy, you alright in there?”

He looked around him, at the blood he was sitting in. How it covered his legs now. The room wouldn’t stop spinning, and his tongue felt heavy and dry. His head pounded. Blood was still pouring from his arms, slicking up the ground. Even if he could find his voice, what would he say? 

“Sam, what’s goin’ on?” 

Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t feel his hands. Surely his blood ran clean now, right? How could he stop the bleeding when his hands felt like useless stumps at his sides? Another jab at his arm for the panic he was causing Dean.

Dean started pounding on the door. “Sammy, let me in!” 

Sam couldn’t get his footing as he tried to curl up in the corner. He wanted to call for help, but all he could do was sob, and try to hide what he had done. Another fuck up, another failure on his hands.

“Sam, I’m gonna pick the lock." He briefly walked away, and came back with his lock pick. Sam heard the clicking of the lock as Dean worked his way through. Dean wasn't prepared for what he saw when the door swung open. Sam, naked, curled in the corner, and covered in blood. He shuffled over to Sam on his knees. "Sammy?" He cupped his brother's face in both hands. Sam's vision was fading around the edges. "Fuck."

Dean lifted Sam into his arms and carried him out to the bed. Sam wanted to ask him for water, so he could form a semblance of a sentence, but his mouth was like sawdust. Dean made sure his head was propped up before he turned over Sam’s arms to inspect the damage. Four cuts on both arms. The ones on the left arm seemed much deeper, blood still sluggishly seeping from them.

“I’ll patch you up, Sammy. I always do.” Dean couldn’t stand the cries leaving his little brother’s mouth. “You want some water?” Sam nodded heavily. Dean pulled the first aid kit from his duffle and filled a cup with tap water. He put a hand on Sam’s upper back and pushed him up in order to slip behind him. Sam gulped the water greedily as Dean held the glass to his lips. “Let’s stitch these up, alright?” 

Dean developed the soft voice he used always use when Sam would wake up from a nightmare as a little kid. He brushed the hair from Sam’s face before opening the first aid kit. He took out the gauze, needle, and dental floss.

“I’m sorry Dean,” Sam’s voice crackled. 

“It’ll be alright. We’ll get you better. I just gotta stitch you up and we’ll go from there.” Sam could tell Dean was on the verge of crying.

“How do I get better?” Sam’s hands were shaking. “How do I get rid of this feeling? I’m dirty, everything I’ve done in life follows me around like a plague.” 

Dean gripped tight to Sam’s arm, to stop the shaking. With the needle threaded, Dean pushed it through Sam’s skin. Sam didn’t have any reaction. 

“That’s not true Sammy, think of all the people we’ve helped. The lives we’ve saved.” Dean tied the stitch off and started on the next slice. “Come on, you can’t get sucked into thinking like that. We’ll spend another couple days, get you back on your feet. And then we’ll be back out hunting.” 

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Sam felt the need to explain himself. Dean finished stitching Sam’s left arm, and instead started massaging his hand delicately, avoiding the criss-crossing slices. “I just-” Sam wiggled a little in an attempt to face Dean, but he wouldn’t allow it. “There’s nothing good about me. There never was. I’ve spent my whole life trying to convince myself otherwise, but I can’t anymore.”

“That’s not true Sammy.”

Sam felt a tear fall on his shoulder. Dean didn’t say anything for a while. Silently caring for Sam, tears falling every so often. After he was finished they sat in silence for a few moments. Sam sunk further into Dean’s broad chest, trying to leech some of his warmth. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, even now.

“Our burgers are probably cold by now.” Sam could feel the vibration of his words. 

“That’s okay.”

Dean heaved a sigh and gingerly slid away from Sam. he grabbed the paper sack that contained their burgers and brought it over to their bed. Sam pushed himself up slowly into a sitting position. The action tugged on his stitches. 

“Thanks Dean.” Sam smiled up at his big brother, and it made the corners of his eyes crease ever so slightly. He could feel the throbbing in his arms with every heartbeat.

“No problem Sammy.” A beat of silence. “You wanna talk about anything?”

“Not really, not right now. Right now I just want to sit here and eat with you.”

So that’s what they did. And later that night while they curled up together Sam explained what he had been feeling over the past years, how it had all built up.

**Author's Note:**

> If you hated it, fuck me up in the comments.


End file.
